The Last Straw
by Tidia
Summary: ATF/AU A shooting in Purgatorio effects Vin and leads the team to a case where Ezra has to do unusual undercover work. Repost of story after Made Man so circa 1998.
1. Chapter 1

The Last Straw  
_An ATF/AU_

Disclaimer: I do not own the Magnificent Seven nor profit from writing about them.  
Rating: PG-13  
Comments: Since JD is supposedly from Massachusetts-I have mentioned some Boston area cities. Thank you to my cousin for the translations. A huge thank you for MOG and Shawna my betas. Another thank you to those who helped-Tannersgirl and Mattie.

* * *

The misting rain outside darkened the air. JD went to turn on another light to illuminate the living room populated by the team. Josiah and Nathan were flipping through some old magazines they had found. Ezra was playing solitaire on the kitchen table, and Buck and Chris were talking in a corner. They were waiting for Vin. JD could see Chris was nervous. The sharpshooter was usually punctual and he was now fifteen minutes late. He also had a penchant for finding trouble. As Dunne turned the switch on the lamp, the phone on the end table began ringing. Answering it, he noticed the group's attention focused on him.

"Hello? . . . Hold on a minute," he placed his hand over the mouthpiece and informed the others. "It's Vin. The Jeep won't start. He can fix it, but it will take time. He doesn't want to take out the Harley cause of the rain." JD was waiting for a decision.

Chris, his relief evident, stepped near the phone, "Tell him we'll pick him up on the way there." Dunne relayed the message, although Vin had already heard it. JD looked at his wristwatch.

"Come on, we're going to miss tip off," he said excitedly. He loved hanging out casually with the guys. Work was great, but it was work, this was different. Ezra, through some connection, had gotten sky box seats for the Nuggets basketball game.

Buck grabbed his jacket, which he found buried under some laundry on the kitchen chair. "Great, we are taking a little detour into hell." The clothes he had moved toppled to the floor. JD stepped over them, it was clean laundry and he would pick it up later. He grabbed his leather bomber jacket and headed out, ready to root for the Nuggets. Of course deep down inside he would always be a Celts fan.

Chris pulled the Dodge Ram across the street from Vin's building. Nathan's Ford Explorer pulled in behind. The headlights of the Ford blindingly illuminated the Dodge, Chris waved back at Nathan and he shut off his headlights. JD had been there many times with Buck always accompanying him. Wilmington didn't want the young agent going to the worst section of Denver alone. Buck didn't understand. When JD's mother had died he had to leave the Chestnut Hill mansion where she had worked as a maid, and find his own place. All he could afford was a small apartment in Mattapan. Then, while he was a cop in Boston he got assigned to the worst areas-Dorchester and Roxbury, places infamous for their illegal activities. How could he ever explain to Buck, his protector, that he wasn't some naïve, innocent kid. It wasn't going to happen.

Sitting with Buck and Chris in the Ram, Dunne could see Tanner outside talking to some neighborhood teenagers. He recognized some of them as being part of Los Lobos, the youth group Vin had formed. The sharpshooter waved as he saw them.

From the car behind, Dunne heard Standish yell out, "Chauffeur service Agent Tanner? You are stepping up in the world."

As JD rolled down the window to call out to Vin he heard one of the teenage boys saying something to the agent.

"Se neccesitan seis hombres para levantarte? The youth chuckled. (_subtitle "It takes six men to pick you up?")_

Vin kept on walking toward the vehicles. "Sube Eduardo,yo escuche a tu madre llamandote." (_subtitle "Go upstairs Eduardo, I heard your mother calling for you.")_

The group of teenagers began to snicker and poke fun at Eduardo, imitating a high pitched woman's voice calling him. The young man blushed red in embarrassment.

"Where are the assault weapons fellas?" Vin said as he came up to the vehicle. JD rolled up the rear window.

"Come on Vin, get in," Chris said as he flicked a switch in the vehicle, unlocking the doors.

Vin slid into the front seat and buckled his seat belt. His hair was darkened by the dampness outside. They pulled away leaving the kids still congregating by the building.

Chris was asking Vin about the problem with the sharpshooter's vehicle, "Spark plugs?"

Tanner nodded. "That's what I think."

"Why don't you get a new car?" JD asked believing the resolution was easy. He had a motorcycle, like Vin, well, Vin had a Harley and he didn't. In bad weather he got a ride from Buck, which was frequent.

Buck grabbed the ever-present newsboy cap off of his roommate's head, and quickly hit the back of Dunne's head with the hat. "JD doesn't seem to understand how a person becomes attached to his car-take Lady."

Dunne rubbed the spot on the rear of his head, trying to take the stinging sensation away. "I wish somebody would. I taped a fifty to the dash board and still no takers."

They all laughed. JD saw Vin lose his grin and his head turn as he followed a red Camaro, which had caught his attention. "Chris stop the car!" Dunne heard Tanner yell. When Larabee didn't respond quickly enough, Vin pulled the emergency break. The vehicle screeched and skidded on the wet, shiny pavement. In the meantime, Vin unbuckled and jumped out, rolling on the slick surface before getting up, and running in the same direction they had just come from, gun drawn. The Ram finally halted, throwing JD against his seat belt. Buck had put on his left arm to stop the young agent from propelling forward.

JD heard the car door slam from behind, and the patter of footsteps running towards them. Ezra looked into the open door, checking to see if everyone was all right. They were stunned, but fine. "Was that Agent Tanner?"

Chris gathered his wits about him and growled, giving Ezra a look which said, 'Let's turn around.' Then they heard gunfire.

* * *

Vin ran, his feet making quick work of the pavement to reach his apartment building. His lungs were burning; he could feel an aching and fiery sensation on his side. He probably had some scrapes and bruises. He pressed onward. He was only a half a mile away. He had to protect the kids, that was his job. He wanted them to feel secure and safe, not grow up fearing to go outside. He would be there in moments. He saw the Camaro slowing down in front of his building, and the nose of a gun going out the window. Everything seemed to slow down for an instant. He wasn't going to let them down. He couldn't.

"Eduardo get down!" Vin yelled as loud as his lungs allowed him with all the desperation he had left.

Eduardo turned to Vin's direction, uncomprehending what was happening as the first bullet entered his body.

"Nooooo!" Vin fired off three shots into the red car. It momentarily accelerated and then turned sharply to the right, colliding with two parked cars. Panting, Vin dropped by Eduardo's side. The group of teenagers gathered around him in shock.

"Josephine, go get his mother now!" The girl's face was contorted with emotion and grief as she saw the blood blossoming on her boyfriend's chest. The cotton, flannel material was saturated as the shirt absorbed as much of the blood flow as possible.

The girl ran into the building yelling, "Rosa," through the stairwell. It echoed through the street in competition with the horn of the Camaro, which shrilled in the air. Vin placed his hands over the wound, trying futilely to stop the red life force from leaving the young body. The sharpshooter heard the 'thump, thump,' sound as Chris's Dodge went up on the curb by the scene. It was the same sound he felt in the slowing heart beat beneath his palm.

Vin sensed someone else next to him. From his peripheral vision he saw it was Nathan. The former medic placed his dark hand over the sharpshooter's bloodied ones. "We called an ambulance. I need to take a look."

Tanner hesitated, he felt as though he was the one keeping Eduardo alive. If he just kept his hand over the gaping wound then Eduardo would be fine. He felt pressure under his armpits; Chris was physically removing Vin away from the boy's side so Nathan could put his medical training to work. The younger agent was silent for a few minutes, feeling the blood dripping down his fingertips, splattering to the ground. He felt the cool, night air caressed his leg through a tear in his jeans. He saw Buck and JD checking out the smashed red car and its three occupants. Both of them grimaced at the grizzly sight. Josiah, stretching out his arms wide and using his large size, was trying to keep onlookers from crowding in on the sickening site. Standing away from Eduardo, he could see how large the hole was in his chest, the paleness of the young man and pool of blood forming and mingling with the rain on the ground. God, they could use a miracle.

"What happened?" Ezra asked, handing the long haired man a pristine white handkerchief to wipe his hands on.

"Eduardo's girlfriend, Josephine, used to go out with Rico, head of Eightball Posse, " he glanced at the shocked kids who had come to Vin's side in hopes of some solace from the shooting that had happened before their eyes, "and this is retaliation."

Vin heard the anxiety in Nathan's voice as he harshly whispered, "Where is that ambulance?" He felt for a pulse, "shit!" and began to do compressions. Vin knelt down and began emergency breathing in the airway. Jackson kept pounding on the chest as Tanner forced air in the unresponsive teenager. After a minute, the former medic stopped and shook his head. The sharpshooter continued to breathe, watching Eduardo's chest rise, because of his breath. Please, he kept thinking, please. Nathan put a hand on Vin's shoulder, leaving a red hand print in his wake. Tanner blinked, noticing there was blood everywhere. Nathan, as a medic, was telling him that there was nothing left to do. God wasn't coming to Purgatorio today. Vin fell back on his haunches and closed Eduardo's eyes, smearing blood on the eyelids.

"Oh Dios!" Rosa screamed to the heavens, as she stood frozen in the door frame. She saw her son's eyes close forever.

* * *

Chris saw Vin leading Rosa, Eduardo's mother, dressed in somber black by the elbow from the limousine to the tented cemetery plot. She was distraught, going between crying and regaining composure. Every few moments she would turn to Vin. "El era un gozo, la luz de mi vida." (_"He was a joy, the light of my life.") _

Vin would pat her on the arm not understanding how it was for a parent to lose a child. Chris knew her history of how her husband had left her, and how she was trying to make a life for her son in the tough streets of Purgatorio.

He would never forget her eyes going wild at the prone form of her son, lying lifeless on the sidewalk. Her face contorted as she threw herself over her boy's body weeping for the light, which had been extinguished in her life. Overnight deep lines had become etched in her face. Chris had never believed that expression until Sarah and Adam died. He rubbed a hand over his chin, feeling slight stubble. Grief had worn on his features too.

Vin sat at Rosa's side, his blue eyes covered by dark sunglasses. The team was there also paying their respects-they were dressed in their funeral garb, which Chris had seen on many occasions-for fellow agents and friends of the seven. He never thought they would be mourning the loss of Los Lobos; since Vin had formed the group he had made sure nothing had befallen them. They took care of each other. This was the first death of one the gang's members. At the funeral home Tanner had placed the colored bandanna of the gang, kissing it before placing it in the casket with the still body of Eduardo.

Chris listened as the service came to an end. The hydraulic hum signaled the lowering of the casket, and the priest said his final prayer.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever."

The priest stayed at the makeshift pulpit. "White roses have been provided for the members of Los Lobos. You can take the rose home or place it on the casket."

Chris watched the youngsters. In single file each member of the gang took a rose and went by the graveside, stepping on the fake green grass which had been placed there to cover barren earth. Each one deposited the rose in the grave. The last person was Josephine, Eduardo's girlfriend, tears streaming down her face silently. She took the rose, and let the soft petals wipe the tears off her face before tossing the bloom into the freshly dug grave.

"Mi amor, mi corazon siempre derramara lagrimas por ti."_"My love, my heart will always cry tears for you." _One of the male members of Los Lobos placed an arm around her and escorted her away from the grave site.

The cars followed in a caravan back to Rosa's apartment. The neighbors had taken care of providing food and coffee for the mourners, even though no one was in the mood to eat. The food couldn't get by the knot that had formed in everyone's throat. Chris lost sight of Vin, the mothers of the building were taking care of Rosa, offering sympathy and making sure she ate something. Chris looked away knowing exactly what was being said to the mourning woman.

"You have to keep your strength up." One of the mothers said to her, placing a plate of food by her.

Rosa looked at the deli meats disgustingly. "Why? For who?" She asked the mother, who was trying to show support with a gentle hand, which stroked the other woman's back. Rosa had no one; the mother rubbing her back still had her children. Life was still worth living. Chris understood Rosa; she was a mirror of his past.

As he turned, he saw Tanner was sneaking out of the crowded apartment. Chris didn't want to disappear without alerting one of his agents. He spied Ezra in a corner doing card tricks to amuse some younger children. "I'm going to check on Vin, tell the others in case they are looking for us."

Standish nodded and gave Larabee a two-finger salute to signal that he had comprehended the message.

Chris went up the flight of stairs to the third floor down the well-lit hall. He found the door open as usual. It was because of Vin the apartment building had changed from being a place of shame to a decent place to live. He did so much for these people; losing one of the Los Lobos was eating his soul. Chris paused as he heard a familiar sound coming from inside. He knocked before opening, finding the sharpshooter hitting the twenty-pound heavy bag. Just last year he had built the beam work necessary to hang that type of equipment. He had adjusted the archway of the kitchen and the clean, oak planks now formed the entry. In the middle was a hook from which Vin hung the chain and then the bag, both pieces were kept in his locked room for fear of the children having an accident. Tanner said it was a bitch to keep dragging the bag in and out, but it was worth it to keep the kids safe.

Vin stood shirt, jacket and tie gone, wearing his pants and a tee shirt. Sweat was already on his chest, seeping into the rim of the white tee. Larabee could see the myriad of purple, blue and brown bruises, dotted with red, angry broken blood vessels, which had formed on Tanner's arm. He had impacted hard against the pavement, and the leader winced at each movement the sharpshooter took. The bruises looked painful, but knowing Vin, he was not going to complain. Chris got behind the bag, holding it steady, so Vin could hit it without the bag moving around from the force of his punches. "JD did some research on the rifle."

The sharpshooter grunted as he hit the bag with a front kick. "Oh yeah?"

Chris dug his shoulder as the force of the kick almost sent him back. "Seems like it was purchased originally at Guns and Ammo."

Tanner did a series of punches ending with a bottom fist strike. "They were underage. They had a record so a straw purchaser had to be involved."

Larabee stuck his head around the bag. "We're going to track them down."

Tanner rested his head against the bag for a moment, catching his breath. With his teeth, he pulled on the black Velcro to release his hand from the glove. He did the same for the left hand. "Chris, nice thought, but it's crazy." Vin lifted the bag up and removed it from its hook, carrying it into his room.

Chris grabbed the chain and followed. "You think it's too tough to find them?"

"I didn't say that," Tanner rested the heavy bag against the wall, Larabee placed the chain on top. The sharpshooter took a few steps toward the door.

"Vin, we want to do it." Chris lay his hand on his friend's chest to stop him.

Tanner stayed put and his eyes drifted to the corner of the bedroom. "This still 'cause of the Cuoco case." Chris followed Vin's line of sight and saw the Tachi sword Ezra had purchased soon after the infamous assignment. The sword was called Sword of the Samurai and it symbolized the mystical code of honor observed by the Samurai. Standish had believed the gift fitting since they were called the Magnificent Seven, which originated from the film 'Seven Samurai'. Ezra said it meant the team was going to live up to a code of honor and not waste the opportunity to prove that they trusted Vin and he could trust them.

Chris dropped his hand, and shook his head. "No, this is because we are ATF agents and the gun was purchased illegally." Vin walked out the door. Chris followed. "And I can't have an agent going off half cocked, through his own channels, seeking revenge."

Vin took the key out of his pocket and locked the door because of the weapons kept in the room. "Fine," he said with his back still turned.

"Fine?" Chris said puzzled at how easily Vin was giving in.

Tanner slipped on his shirt and proceeded to button the small-pearlized buttons. "I guess for once, cowboy, I'll do it your way."


	2. Chapter 2

The Last Straw Part 2

Note: Thank you for the reviews. This is an old story not a new one. I'm starting to think it was 1998.

* * *

Nine o'clock in the morning was just too early to have a meeting. The latte hadn't even had a chance to hit Ezra's nervous system. Standish slipped into his leather chair at the conference table, and read the folder he had picked up at his desk just a few minutes earlier. The others were already there, and watched silently as the undercover agent flicked through the papers.

"Since we are all here," Chris said, staring at Ezra. Standish felt the eyes boring into him, but as usual he ignored the comment directed toward him concerning his tardiness. Larabee had obviously not gotten enough sleep; his demons must have been churned by the murder of a few days ago. And honestly, was it his fault that his early morning regime was a little more involved than taking a shower, brushing teeth, and throwing on some clothes? He chose his clothing wisely each day in reflection of his fastidiousness. He momentarily tuned the leader out. He was reviewing the information JD had retrieved concerning the purchase of the gun used to kill the youth member of Los Lobos, Ezra had already heard it.

The gun had been purchased at Guns and Ammo in December of 1997, making it a fast time to crime, which meant the time it took for a gun to be purchased and then used illegally thus coming into the polices' hands. The gun was practically new, but that was the trend. Young killers wanted their guns still in the shrink-wrap. Through a straw purchaser the gun had made it into the hands of an underage, juvenile delinquent by the name of Sam Baiduo. The team was going to go after the straw purchaser, the ingrate who had the nerve to illegally sell guns to those who could not acquire them through legal channels. He closed the manila folder and concentrated on what Chris was saying.

"So you two," Larabee gestured to the Buck and JD, "are going to check out Guns and Ammo." Chris slid a folder down the glossy, cherry wood conference table. Effortlessly, it stopped in front of the two roommates.

"God, back to hell again?" Buck answered. Ezra smiled, Guns and Ammo happened to be situated in Purgatorio. Standish understood Wilmington's response. The two times he had visited Vin, he arranged to use a vehicle from the car pool. He did not want to see his hood ornament around the neck of some young thug.

"You are taking some company along too," Chris continued, ignoring Buck's response.

Wilmington crooked up an eyebrow. "Protection?" He asked hopefully.

Larabee enunciated each word, which was a signal to Buck that the lead agent was losing his patience. "Inspector Thompson. He knows the shop in question."

Nathan glanced at the others, wondering what they would be doing to aid in the situation. "What is everyone else up to?"

Josiah, sitting next to Jackson, swiveled his chair to face his partner. "Brother Tanner and I have a meeting to attend."

"We are going to play bad ATF agent and worse ATF agent," Vin said, his right hand holding a pen, which he had been maneuvering in a circular motion. Something in that folder had gotten his full attention. "Josiah agreed to come since he has been working at the mission and knows some of the families in the area."

Standish noted Tanner's attire du jour. "Let me guess. . . you are worse?" Vin was wearing ripped jeans, and an untucked denim shirt.

The sharpshooter smirked back and pretended to dust off his denim shirt in offense. "A meeting with all gangs was called. There has been 5 months of no shootings and we want to go for a record."

JD piped in. "What was the previous record?"

Tanner looked down at the folder. "Five months."

Dunne moved around in his seat, noticing the awkwardness in the room. "Oh."

Josiah went on to explain and break the mood. "The police are going to be there too. Rob Greene, the agent who runs the training program for G.R.E.A.T., is also attending."

The Gang Resistance Education and Training program had only started in Denver a few months ago. But, Ezra had heard about the ATF project while he was still officially with the FBI in Atlanta. A program designed to intervene at the middle school level to inform children that they have choices other than belonging to a gang. "They have an seventy percent success rate."

Sanchez gave the undercover agent a nod; impressed he had knowledge of the program. Ezra sighed to himself. His theory was to keep the team on their toes, and only divulge his knowledge at certain times.

"Don't have too much fun," Buck said, now happy with his assignment.

"The rest of us will be finishing the paperwork from the bombing case," Chris said, picking up his paperwork, and shuffling it into a pile.

Ezra groaned, and slowly got up from his chair, following the others out. He needed to make a detour to Starbucks. It was going to take at least another latte before he was able to do paperwork.

* * *

Buck, JD and Inspector Colin Thompson parked the Ford Crown Victoria in front of Guns and Ammo. Outside of the store, huge concrete blocks had been erected to stop thieves from driving a truck through the wall to get the guns. Heavy metal bars were placed on the windows.

"Seems like a real friendly place to work," Buck said as he noticed the film of rust over the bars and the orange tinge to the concrete. JD exited the back seat and solidly slammed the door.

Colin, the stocky, forty-five year old inspector, laughed. "Well, at least they are cooperative."

They entered and a buzzer rang, signaling their arrival. Wilmington looked around the interior of the store. There was a huge glass counter, which held a nice selection of weapons. Buck noted almost immediately prices ranging from $99.00 to $1,000. The cheaper ones disgusted him, most notably the infamous Saturday Night Specials made by the Ring of Fire companies. The walls were covered with dark wood paneling, making sure that any sunlight that entered the store was quickly dampened. Adorning the walls were military style weapons, mounted animal heads and an American flag. The constitution guaranteed the right to bear arms, and Guns and Ammo wanted to show that the founding fathers gave their blessing to each purchase.

Buck wondered what JD thought of this place. He glanced over at his young partner, who seemed to be smaller in the gloom of the shop's decor. He always had an eye on the young man. The others called it mother henning, but someone had to keep an eye on the boy. He attracted trouble. JD caught his eye and shook his head. He gestured to the plaques on the wall. One said, 'No loaded guns in the store!' and right below another sign, 'We don't dial 911.'

Great, Wilmington thought to himself, they were dealing with some good ol' boys.

Inspector Thompson began making introductions. "Agent Wilmington, Agent Dunne, I'd like you to meet Wade Botts. He and his brothers own this place."

The balding, skinny, man with the beard smiled from behind the counter. "We are like the three banditos. On the other hand, since you're ATF agents make that- we are like the three amigos." Wade stretched out his hand to Buck, who shook it firmly. Botts hesitated slightly before accepting JD's handshake. Wilmington had noticed 'the look' the gun shop owner gave his roommate. The one that said, 'You look too young to be an ATF agent.' The ladies man had told his young friend to grow a mustache. People would think he was older, plus women loved ol' Buck's facial hair.

"Colin, how can I help you today?" Wade dusted off the counter with the sleeve of his shirt. "Cause it's not annual inspection time."

JD cleared his throat and spoke up. "A gun used to murder a kid was traced to your store."

Botts shook his head. "And because I am so cooperative and keep great records, you want to see who made the purchase." Wade glared at the two agents and waved his hands in frustration. "Sure, you know, I follow the law. I do the FBI Insta check and I even turn people away."

Buck snickered and rolled his eyes. "You're a regular humanitarian." He was surprised the Star Spangle Banner or America the Beautiful wasn't playing in the background.

"Look," the gun shop owner began to list his reasons for his supposed persecution. "We sell a lot of guns. We are the closest gun shop to the center of Denver. There's no competition and there's easy access from the highway."

"You were just born under a lucky star," Buck retorted. He heard JD snort beside him. He was probably thinking the same thing as Buck; this guy is blowing smoke. Wilmington wondered if he shit ice cream too.

"My mama would say so, but the ATF helped when it cracked down on the kitchen table dealers." Wade was right.

The ATF had tightened the requirements to become a licensed gun dealer; this had resulted in a large number of dealers voluntarily turning in their licenses.

JD interrupted the verbal sparring. "You sold it to a straw purchaser."

Wade still tried to sway the agents, and cover up a mistake he may have made. "A gun is used more times for good than to hurt. An honest person oughta be able to buy a gun."

Buck understood what Botts was saying. He was just yanking the chain of the gun shop owner. A gun was a gun and someone had to sell them. It was a living. It just would be nice if the bad guys didn't have so many.

Inspector Thompson had obviously been through the same conversation with Botts on many occasions. "Wade, thanks for the NRA propaganda, and Charlton Heston would be proud, but can we take a look at the records?"

The gun shop owner nodded and motioned them to the gate on the side of the counter. He buzzed them in.

JD followed directly behind Buck, "I wonder how Josiah and Vin are doing?"

Wilmington was wondering the same thing.

* * *

Patience was a virtue and Josiah was watching Vin Tanner lose the battle. Tanner usually kept an air of calmness around him, but as the meeting with the leaders of the gangs dragged on, Vin was starting to tense. Rigidly, he sat in the metal folding chair in the local high school gym; his hands were clasped in front of him on the long card table.

Sanchez scrutinized the lost children before him, heads of the ruthless gangs in Purgatorio: The Insane Deuces, C-Notes, Park Avenue Players and Eightball Posse. The gang representatives were wearing their colors, green, black, red and white. Trying to show with their splash of color that they were united and strong. Josiah shook his head ruefully.

The large man had been working at the mission trying to provide as much guidance as possible to the inhabitants of Purgatorio. He stared at the man next to him who had grown up in streets like these. Sanchez was surprised Tanner was an officer of the law instead of a criminal. Vin could easily have slipped, but he had strong will and determination to succeed. Josiah should have recognized that attribute in the Cuoco case. And he should have recognized they both had the same fundamental belief, underneath the tough talk and hard living that these kids were just looking for a place where they belonged and were safe. The sharpshooter had done that with Los Lobos.

The young agent hadn't spoken much about the loss of Eduardo. Yet, it was easy for the team to see what was reflected in the stormy blue eyes of the sharpshooter-guilt, anger and sadness. Vin had thought he had given hope to another kid, given the young man a future to hold on to. Created guilt was a heavy burden, inflicting a worn, shadowy visage on the sharpshooter. Sanchez watched as Tanner crossed his arms over his chest and listened to Denver Police Chief Sawyer speak.

"We are here today to tell you it stops."

The Chief pounded his hand against the podium. With the help of the ATF." Sawyer gestured to Josiah, Vin and Rob who were sitting at the other end of the table. "We will be tracing all guns we come across. This means we will be making more arrests." The Chief looked up to make sure he had the attention of his audience. "It doesn't end there, if something happens here-a shooting, a fight, anything, then we are coming down hard."

The local law enforcement officials nodded, showing support for their leader.

"You won't even get a chance to think about doing a crime, and we'll have your asses hauled off to jail." The Chief said forcefully, spit accompanied his words.

Josiah had thought Sawyer was being effective at putting the fear of God into the gang members. They slouched in their chairs, which Sanchez believed was because they felt uncomfortable with the scrutiny, until the leader of the Insane Deuces yelled out.

"You think you can come here and change things?" The teenager said rolling his eyes up toward the red bandanna that covered his hair. "Pfff."

The large man looked over at Vin. Tanner leaned forward, menacingly in his chair, glaring at the teenager.

"You are nothing!" Javier, the representative of the Eightball Posse, said from the other side of the room, waving his arm in the air, gesturing toward the men before them. "We own the streets." He brought his arm back down and thumped his chest.

Vin's eyes grew narrow. This was the gang that had killed Eduardo. "You talk big, little man."

The boy flamed red in embarrassment over his diminutive size. At 5 feet 3inches, Javier did not look the least bit sinister. "First Eduardo, then the rest of Los Lobos." He growled out, elbowing his friend sitting next to him, knowing he was getting to the agent.

Vin suddenly sprung off his chair, and tossed it at the young man. The folding chair landed with a clatter in front of the teenager.

"You want a piece of me, you little shit?" Tanner had one booted foot on the table, readying himself to get to Javier. The gang representatives were coming forward, eager to meet the challenge head on. This was becoming an episode of Jerry Springer and Sanchez was more of an Oprah fan. Josiah swiftly grabbed the irate agent around his waist, slamming him against the painted, cinder block wall of the high school gym. Sanchez heard the gun shot and the silence entered the room. Shards of plaster clattered on the table. With one hand holding Vin against the wall, Josiah turned around to see the officers standing up; white dust forming a film on the table and eight guns aimed at the gang members.

"We obviously needed a demonstration to prove our point." Chief Sawyer yelled out, his voice stronger without the microphone. "Take your seats!"

Scraping of metal against the worn wooden, planked floor reverberated. Solemnly, the representatives took their seats. Everything seemed under control so the large agent turned his attention back to the sharpshooter. He let his arm drop and pulled a sullen Tanner into an alcove away from prying eyes. Their footsteps echoed as they made their way across the gym. Vin leaned against the wall, and Josiah stood before him, feet firmly planted doing his best Chris Larabee imitation.

"Talk."

Vin pursed his lips inward sealing them together, with a glance to Josiah he let his lips relax, licking them before finally divulging the truth. "I'm pissed."

"The chair tossing was a clue." Josiah turned his head and saw the meeting was continuing under more subdued tones. At least, the scene had been effective in getting the kids to listen.

Tanner leaned against the cool wall. "Eduardo was a good kid, and those little shits took him away, and I couldn't stop it." Vin avoided looking at Josiah, as if he was ashamed of what he was going to say next. "The reason why I didn't put up a fight with Chris is because I couldn't think straight. I don't know what to do with this." He looked at his hands, which he had balled into tight fists.

Sanchez squeezed Tanner's shoulder causing the man to reflexively let his hands go slack. "You have a right to be angry. You helped Eduardo see the possibilities available to him. You gave him a chance."

Vin gave him a twisted, self –deprecating smile. "Some chance, he's dead."

"And the ones that killed him are dead, too," Josiah replied. They were pronounced dead at the scene. Sanchez had not paid attention as the paramedics extricated the bodies from the Camaro and he later learned their burial had taken place the day after Eduardo's.

"So, life sucks-then you die," the sharpshooter said, his hair falling forward, covering his face slightly as he leaned his head forward and bent his leg so his foot was against the wall.

"No. You showed those kids of Los Lobos that they have a place where they belong and life is worth living, even in Purgatorio." Josiah pointed his thumb behind him at the other occupants of the gym. "Those punks envy them. Maybe in time the Deuces, C-notes and the Posse will see they don't need weapons to take care of each other. They just need each other."

"Maybe." The sharpshooter pulled his hair back, Josiah could see Vin's blue eyes. They were unreadable.

The older agent did not want to be placated. He wanted to help the young agent. "You have a place where you belong, too. The team and myself are here to help."

Vin needed to know he had friends he could trust and they would be there. Blue eyes met brown. A throat clearing brought the staring contest to an end. Rob interrupted them. "The Chief wants to continue the show of force and have the motorcycle police lead us out."

Vin let his eyes flicker at the two men waiting by the door, tight beige pants and matching shirt wearing shiny black boots. "Great, Ponch and Jon are leading the way out of Purgatorio. They look real threatening." He pushed himself away from the wall and began walking ahead.

Josiah laughed heartily at the sharpshooter's sarcastic humor and looked at Tanner's retreating back. He could only hope it wasn't a defense mechanism and maybe he had gotten through to Vin.

* * *

Vin thought he had a handle on himself, but when that little asshole mentioned Eduardo he felt the eruption and the loss of control. He was hoping Buck and JD were going to return from the gun store with good news. He had to shake this foul mood so he could think straight and help. He had to find the straw purchaser, and know there was someone beside himself to blame. Chris was giving him concerned, wayward glances. He tried not to meet the leader's green eyes as the team sat at the conference table sharing their information.

Buck leaned back in his leather chair. "The Dukes of Guns and Ammo gave us the name of the original purchaser of the gun."

Mimicking his roommate, JD continued and also reclined back in his seat, which squeaked. "He used the name of Juan Perez."

Vin let his chin drop at the news. "Why didn't he just use John Smith?"

"We know." Wilmington looked at his best friend before turning to face Tanner directly. "We tried to trace the person, but it lead to a dead end. We can go further. It will just take time."

The sharpshooter nodded, appreciating the lengths the two roommates had gone to, and were willing to go, in order to see justice done in this case, but if they went that route then the straw purchaser would never be found. Vin began to tap his pencil hoping a solution would present itself. He ended up divulging what he had found out.

"I talked to a few people," Chris gave him a hard stare. He had promised not to do anything drastic, he did not promise he wouldn't sniff around. "The guy is new in town. His catch is he finds ya, and he only sells to people in Purgatorio."

"That's a limited target market," commented Ezra.

Vin continued. "Think about it? He figures they know how to keep their mouths shut." Living in Purgatorio he saw first hand that ninety- percent of the crimes did not get reported. He glanced at the men, everyone was thinking about the information he had told. Then his eyes fell on Chris, and suddenly knew just what the next step was.

Buck had seen the smiles come across the faces of their leader and Tanner and knew a plan had been hatched. "Okay Wonder Twins, we know your powers are activated, ya mind cluing the rest of us in?"

"Someone needs to go undercover," Chris said, looking at his agents one by one. "Someone who is not familiar in Purgatorio."

All the men shook their heads. They were known in Vin's section of town. Chris frequently visited the sharpshooter at the apartment. Josiah worked at the mission; Nathan had come numerous times to patch up someone so they would not get in trouble. When JD visited, Buck followed since Dunne needed a bodyguard by the name of Wilmington. That left only one person.

Ezra cleared his throat, and brought six sets of eyes on himself. "Well, since my existence in the ATF is based on my position as an undercover agent, I guess I fit the bill."

Vin, sitting next to Standish, slapped him on the back. The undercover agent had no idea what he had just gotten into. "Glad you feel that way Ez."

Ezra seemed to be basking in the knowledge that only he could do this job. "So you want me to be a straw purchaser."

"No, that might take too long," Chris replied still standing at the head of the table.

Standish raised his eyebrows in puzzlement. "And your suggestion?" Ezra always decided what persona he was going to take in an assignment.

"You are going to try to purchase a gun." Larabee slowly sat as he spelled out the plan. "But, you'll have a record, so you can't. Maybe you'll attract some attention." He was leaning back now and smiling. Vin noticed the rest of the team had an understanding of what was going to occur.

Buck picked up the plan next; his eyes were twinkling. "Course that ain't gonna work right away."

Chris nodded, and grinned. "So you're going to have to live in Purgatorio."

Vin brought his attention back to Ezra to see his reaction. The bomb had been dropped. Standish paled, and his green eyes grew wide. He had lost the power of speech.

"But, but. . ."

Larabee continued speaking, ignoring Standish's meek protests. "I'll arrange for Ezra to use one of the city's safe houses. He'll have 24 hour surveillance."

The men nodded, understanding they would be taking turns providing surveillance. The meeting was adjourned. Ezra was not moving. The others patted him on the back as they left.

The sharpshooter sat on the table so he could look directly at the shell shocked man. "I have some stuff for you." He thought he saw Ezra gulp, and his Adam's apple move up and down his throat. Vin squeezed the undercover agent's shoulder. He felt terrible about Ezra having to go to Purgatorio. He'd owe Standish big time if he could pull this off.


	3. Chapter 3

The Last Straw Part 3

* * *

This was what a stroke must feel like, Ezra thought. Only an acute medical condition could explain how he had quickly lost control and found himself having to take up residence in Purgatorio. He had finally stumbled his way into his office after the surprise in the conference room. He sat holding his head in his hands, waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Hearing a soft knock he waved Agent Tanner in.

Awkwardly, Vin placed a brown, cardboard box on the neat desk. This must be the stuff the sharpshooter had mentioned earlier. The undercover agent vaguely remembered Vin talking to him after the team had given their condolences. Tanner made no move to open the box. Standish placed the carton in his lap. He assumed it contained maps, and information of the area. He opened the flaps to find an offensive blue and red plaid shirt. Quickly he closed the box and pushed it back to Vin.

"What is the meaning of this?" He questioned, pointing at the box as if it were a ferocious animal. Ezra hated plaid. Armani, Brioni and Prada did not make plaids.

"Umm, Ez, you can't go into Guns and Ammo dressed like that." Vin's blue eyes studied Ezra nicely cut Marzotto suit. Tanner took a seat in the guest chair. Softly, he continued to speak. "You need to blend in and be able to hang out at places."

Maybe he should go to the doctor's. He was not fit for duty. He hadn't thought this whole jaunt into Purgatorio through, and Ezra prided himself on being well prepared for an assignment. He would have to go in as a normal, average guy. Ezra visibly shivered-he was none of those-he was an extraordinary gentleman. Who happened to have a friend in need, and he had agreed to help. He couldn't attach any strings to friendship, could he?

The undercover agent leaned forward across his desk. "Ezra Standish does not hang out."

Vin let a grin slip over his lips. "What do you call what you do at the saloon?"

Without missing a beat, Ezra responded. "Associating with my co-workers."

Vin laughed and nodded. He realized Ezra had come around and was going to go through with the assignment. Tanner placed the box back on the desk.

Ezra nervously placed his hand on the offensive object. "I need to be alone for a minute. I'll be right out."

Tanner winked. He closed the door behind him leaving Standish with the clothing. Ezra slowly took out the shirt, and studied it. "Courage Ezra, courage."

All this time with the FBI and now with the ATF he had masterfully avoided an assignment which would force him into Wal-Mart clothes. He always found a way to keep his clothes, whether he went in as a drug dealer or an arms trader, he wore his own attire. Well, there was a first and a last time for everything. Ezra slipped out of his suit jacket.

The door clicked behind as Ezra made his entrance into the common room of the 11th floor. He was wearing the plaid shirt; a white tee shirt was peeking underneath as accent. He found a worn pair of Levis in navy. The only pair of shoes he had found in the box were work boots. Lovingly, he had wrapped his Ferragamo loafers and locked them in his desk draw before making his appearance.

"He looks like bad Hunter Ken." He heard JD say in the silent office. He looked at his teammates. All seemed to be struggling not to smile or laugh.

Buck came forward. His smile so wide, Ezra could see the whiteness of the ladies man's teeth. "Here." Wilmington handed a plain bag to Standish. "Me and the boys got you something."

Standish put his hand inside the crumpled paper bag and pulled out a short, off-white bottle. "I do not wear Old Spice." The others standing behind Wilmington were all laughing, unable to control themselves. Ezra raised his voice so they could him over the cacophony. "I wear Irish Tweed by Creed. It is worn by Prince Charles."

This only made the fits of laughter worse. Nathan and Josiah were clutching their stomachs, doubled over in amusement. JD had tears streaming down his face, and had to sit on a desk. Buck still in the grips of his delirium, haltingly said, "Ez, in case no one told you before-Prince Charles doesn't go to Purgatorio."

At least Chris and Vin had some decorum. They were laughing, but had covered their mouths, so as not to subject Ezra to any more indignity.

The undercover agent turned to his leader. He had a job to do, and he knew Chris would respect him. "I have a plan."

Chris gestured for Ezra to lead the way into his office to review the plan Standish had devised. Standish held his head up high as he walked to Larabee's office.

Larabee turned to his best friend and whispered, "Did you get the picture?"

Vin produced the small camera from his pocket. "Oh yeah."

* * *

Chris listened through earphones as Ezra entered Guns and Ammo to attempt to make a purchase. In a white van, across the street from the store, six men listened as Ezra talked to the clerk.

"I just moved into town, and with all these kids hanging around I think I need a gun, just in case."

The clerk 's response came through clearly from the microphone, which Ezra had placed in the pocket of his flannel shirt.

"I totally understand. It's like you walk down the street and see three drug deals before reaching the corner." Both men laughed at the comment.

Sitting next to Chris, Vin growled, irate over the casual statement. "If he's so concerned why doesn't he stop selling guns."

Larabee saw the sharpshooter's blue eyes were blazing with anger. The flippant remark had hurt Tanner, still reeling from the loss of one of the Los Lobos. It only strengthened Chris's resolve to bring the scum bag straw purchaser down.

The clerk stopped chuckling. "So you want something basic?"

"Yep, and nothing that's going to break the bank." Ezra said with a conspiratorial tone in his voice.

The six agents heard the case door slide open and the clerk place a gun on the counter. "This one should serve your purpose," there was a click of a gun's chamber being checked. "A Taurus Model 65, the best self-defense caliber for most people. It's list price is $313.00 for a blued finish."

There was a long pause, which was probably Ezra examining the gun. "I'll take it." The case was shut and there was an audible click of a lock being fastened.

"By law I have to put your information through the FBI's Insta check." The clerk told Ezra.

Standish lowered his voice, as if he was telling a secret. "Umm, well truth be told, I was convicted for a crime." Chris had arranged for the record of one Eric Simpson to read he had been convicted of driving under the influence of alcohol. "I was innocent, " Ezra continued. This elicited a laughing response from the occupants of the van. It was a statement they had heard numerous times from a variety of criminals. "But it's going to show up on my record." Larabee could tell the undercover agent was turning on the charm in hopes he'd be able to purchase the weapon. Therefore, another plan would have to be thought up. One not involving said agent having to dress in inexpensive clothing and live in Purgatorio. He had to hand it to the undercover agent, he was really trying to avoid having to take up residence in Purgatorio.

"Sir, I am sorry but I can't sell you a gun." The clerk responded with a terse tone of voice.

"Shot down!" JD exclaimed. "Sorry, figure of speech. You know what I mean."

The occupants of the vehicle grinned. Chris himself was finding his agent's discomfiture amusing. He had to stifle a laugh as he remembered when they went to the garage to show Ezra the car he would be driving.

"No," Standish had gasped upon seeing the 1988 maroon Dodge Daytona in the parking spot usually reserved for the Jaguar.

Tanner stepped in to qualm the undercover agent's fears. "Don't worry Ez, we just moved your car, right there," Vin pointed to a space a row down. Standish visibly relaxed when he saw the shiny, black vehicle was fine. He then turned to look at his temporary vehicle and grimaced.

"At least it is low to the ground," JD said with a smirk as he inspected the car by kicking its tires.

"Please, Agent Dunne, do not compare this poorly American-engineered vehicle with my own luxury automobile," he said, looking at the vehicle as though it made him physically ill.

"Ezra, you do know Ford owns Jaguar right?" Nathan said with a smile on his face. He drove a Ford Explorer.

"Yes, I do know," frustration edged Standish's voice. "I just tend to selectively forget," he mumbled the last part.

"Look, Ezra, it is only temporary," Vin said, glaring at the guys to stop the teasing for awhile. It was, after all, because of Tanner that Ezra had agreed to do this assignment. Chris knew that even though Standish complained and protested he was still committed to helping a friend, and seeing justice done. The undercover agent liked to project himself as the black sheep of the seven; the man on the fringe. The more he tried to distance himself the more he got teased by the others to show he belonged and they included him in their camaraderie. Chris had to admit, though, Ezra gave back as good as he got.

"Thank you, Agent Tanner, I plan to have the straw purchaser show himself sooner rather than later." With a loud squeak, he opened the driver side door. Vin threw him the keys, and awkwardly Ezra slid into the front bucket seat.

"Whatever makes you feel better," Chris replied as the rest of them walked to the surveillance van.

"Please?" Chris heard the plea coming through the headset, as did the others, bringing him to the problem at hand.

"What a sorry thing to hear. He's begging." Buck said shaking his head.

"Do you know anyone who can? You know on the side?" Ezra continued his plea to the clerk.

"That's against the law," the salesperson responded, obviously losing patience with the irksome customer.

Standish raised his voice in frustration. Chris knew he was not happy that the plan would have to go onto phase two. "You have a flag up there which tells me I have a right to bear arms. I need to be able to protect myself!"

"You are going to have to leave." The sales clerk stated.

The six heard Ezra huff and puff, and then the chime of someone leaving the store. From the window they could see Standish was outside glaring at the van.

He spoke into the microphone. "Agent Sanchez, I hope you can assure me that because of what I am going to do there is a place in heaven for me."

Josiah solemnly made the sign of the cross in Ezra's direction. Buck, JD, and Nathan followed the large man's lead and bowed their heads.

"Hell boys, he's gonna be livin' in the nice section," Vin said as he moved into the driver's seat and started the engine to the van. They pulled away from the curbstone and followed the Dodge Daytona to Ezra's new home.

Chris didn't think it was going to matter to the undercover agent. He was not going to be happy living in Purgatorio. Larabee could only hope the case would end quickly.

* * *

Six days had passed since he drove up to 995 East Trent Street. The fact that Agent Tanner was actually impressed with the surroundings scared Ezra. The home was constructed of cinder blocks providing very little warmth within the cold walls. Brown velour-covered furniture occupied the living room. In the bedroom, resided a full size bed, nightstand and a bureau all made of faux wood. They were not reminiscent of his antique furniture. At night he would lull himself to sleep with the thought, 'Courage, Ezra, courage,' and the knowledge one of the seven was outside.

He had entered into a routine of sorts. Each morning, Ezra awoke at an ungodly hour. He put on his work clothes and drove the Dodge to a construction site. There Vin would be waiting to take him to work. He was making it to work on time, and hoped Larabee was not getting used to it. He would go back to his old habits soon enough. At work he changed into his normal clothes, and reveled in being able to wear a suit for eight hours. At night, the routine reversed itself. He would then frequent the local haunts-convenience stores, bars, etc. Tonight he found himself at McGee's Pub, a lovely establishment situated within Purgatorio serving only the best Bud and Bud Light. His mission was the same- to let people know he wanted a gun, and maybe a certain straw purchaser would show himself.

He knew Agent Tanner was getting restless. Although their morning trips were as silent as usual, Ezra could still read the sharpshooter. It was not just because the straw buyer had yet to make an appearance. The time was shortly approaching in which Ezra was going to be pulled off the case. The manpower of the seven men was being taxed and they had other assignments to attend. No matter how much they wanted to catch the criminal, in a couple of days their efforts would have to end.

He ordered another beer and laughed at a comment made by the man sitting on the bar stool next to him. Most of the inhabitants must have thought him a curmudgeon. Yet, his neighbors thought differently of him. With a baseball cap low on his forehead, he thought about his neighbors.

Two days after he became a resident of Purgatorio he returned 'home' at night to find two children playing in his yard. It had been a long day at the ATF office and to return to these bleak surroundings did nothing for Ezra's mood. He walked up to the children and warned them. "You're on private property."

There was a lanky boy around six with dark, medium length hair and a girl not much older with her hair in a braid down her back. Both stopped running and turned to him, "So?"

It was already dark outside and Standish wanted these unmannered children to leave. "Don't you think you should be getting home? Isn't your mother looking for you?"

The boy began running again. The little girl, standing with hands on hips, answered. "Nope, she's working."

The undercover agent did not want to know why a mother would leave two children unsupervised. He was losing patience, and tried not to let it show. "Have you done your homework?"

"Yep," the girl answered in a monotone voice. She pulled her braid to the front, and began to examine the ends.

Ezra bent down so he was at the little girl's level. She had large brown eyes. "Have you eaten dinner?"

"Had some cookies," she said as she watched her brother run around the backyard. "Come on, Ricky, let's go home!" She yelled out motioning to the younger boy.

"Okay, Lily, coming!" He said a little out of breath as he ran as fast as he could and stopped suddenly in front of Ezra with a toothless grin.

The two waifs were walking away from him into the darkness. 'Don't get involved,' Ezra told himself as he was returning to the house. His conscience got the better of him and he called out to them. "Where do you live?"

They were at the end of the driveway. "Next door." The girl turned around swiftly, her braid bouncing in the air.

He sighed as he jogged up to them. "Seeing as we are neighbors. My name is Eric by the way. I feel it is my duty to escort you home."

They shrugged their shoulders, ambivalent about the perilousness of their surroundings. It was only a few steps, surely Ezra could make sure they made it home fine. Granted, Buck was watching, too, from across the way and probably found the whole situation amusing. Standish looked down at the two little ones leading the way. They were very trusting. Luckily, he was an ATF agent. It was damn fortunate nothing untoward had happened to these kids. They were at the doorstep. Not one light had been left on. Ezra tried not to feel anger towards the parents of these two. He had never met them. The little boy twisted the doorknob.

"Cookies are not a healthy meal. There must be something else you can eat."

"Dunno, maybe," the girl said as she entered the house, and was about to close the door.

Ezra stuck his hand on the door so that it would not close in his face. "I am not the greatest cook, but perhaps I can make you something to eat."

Ricky and Lily shared a look and a nod, and decided to let Ezra in. In the small home, similar to the one he was staying in, they pointed him to the kitchen. Wordlessly, he entered and began rummaging through the refrigerator. As he closed the refrigerator door finding nothing, he thought he had to remind these children to be wary of strangers. He could hear the television turned up loud in the other room. Finally, in the cupboard, he came across a box of macaroni and cheese. As he opened the box, he cringed at the memory of seeing Buck prepare some of the pasta. The mental picture of the powdered, fluorescent orange, imitation cheese that was sealed in the unlabeled white packet almost made him call for Ho Mein's for delivery; but the last thing he needed to do was to attract attention to himself. Hell, there was little guarantee that the Chinese restaurant wouldn't laugh out loud once he gave the address. So macaroni ala formage it would be.

He stayed awhile, made sure they ate and cleaned up, then, went back to his very humble abode. He left his phone number with them and kept checking on them through the window of the living room. He must have fallen asleep while reading _A Tale of Two Cities_, because, there was a loud, impatient knocking at the door as if someone has been trying to get his attention for awhile.

With his hand he brushed his hair away from his face. "Coming!" He opened the door to find a thin woman with lank hair wearing a waitress uniform.

"I just wanted to thank you," She said, and she pointed to the house next door. "My kids told me, and I wanted to make sure you are not some nutcase."

"I assure you, I'm not, ma'am. But. . ." Ezra replied to the woman who had the same eyes as her daughter.

"I know what you think, but you don't know." She hitched her handbag further up her shoulder. "Their father walked out on us. I have two jobs so I can clothe them and pay the rent, and I also go to school."

"I understand," Ezra replied. He had to give the woman credit. He may not of have approved of her parenting techniques. At least, she was keeping her family together, unlike Maude, who took every opportunity to send Ezra to stay with relatives. The children's mother interrupted his childhood reminiscing.

"Well thanks, Eric, and if you are ever at the Mug and Muffin ask for Meg. Coffee will be on the house." Meg said, as she headed down the walkway and made her way back to the house next door.

"Meg?" Ezra called out. "You won't mind if I keep an eye on them from time to time?" The undercover agent figured he could watch over them while he was in Purgatorio.

She stopped and took a moment to assess Standish again. "Nope."

Over the week, he discovered Lily was a budding artist and Ricky had a tendency towards math skills. Both, after their initial surliness, and outward toughness had turned out to be charming children.

The next day, after his incident with the children, he met the woman from across the street. He was getting into the borrowed heap of junk. He could not bear to call the Dodge 'his vehicle.' In a way, it seemed to degrade the Jaguar.

He heard the woman's engine sputter. The car was not turning over. She got out, wringing her hands and looking up at her house. Ezra looked at his watch. He had time to help. For once, since this whole farce had started, he would come in at his usual late hour. There was another bonus. Agent Tanner, the teacher's pet, would also be on the tardy list.

He walked up to the plump, older woman. "Ma'am, may I help you?"

She looked at him warily. Ezra wondered if he would get the same look if he were wearing his Brioni suit. He tried not to dwell on it. Soon enough, he would be wearing a perfectly tailored set of clothes.

"No, no, my car won't start," a faint accent tinged her words. "I don't want to bother my husband, he just got in from the late shift."

"May I?" Ezra asked, gesturing to the hood of the old vehicle. He opened the hood and looked around at the dark, dusty parts that made up the inside of the car. He had no idea what he was doing. He shut the hood. He looked at the distraught woman. "How about if I give you a ride?"

She wrung her hands again. "I'm a cleaning woman at the O'Neill building. Is it on your way?" Her eyes darted from him to her car.

"Yes, I pass right by there," Ezra answered and put his hand out gallantly for her to proceed before him to the Dodge. She stepped into the car, shut the door and fastened the seatbelt. Standish noticed she had maneuvered herself so she was against the door and as far away from him as possible.

The undercover agent started the engine and pulled out onto the road. Without taking his eyes off the street he told her, "I'm Eric and I don't bite."

She nervously laughed. "Carmen, I wouldn't have accepted the ride, but I missed the bus and I can't afford a taxi,"

"Not a problem." He wanted to say she didn't have to be nervous, that he was an ATF agent. Unfortunately, he couldn't. He could only get her to her destination as soon as possible.

Carmen was nervous and began chatting to bring her some ease. Ezra found it was common for people to react this way.

"You're new to the neighborhood."

"Yes," Standish answered as he turned onto the highway, waving as a driver let him proceed on the ramp.

"My husband, Lenny, and I moved here a year ago. I have an elderly mother with Alzheimer's. Her bills are a lot so we had to make some changes." She explained to the undercover agent.

Within moments, he pulled up to the building and he let her out. "Have a good day." He said to her as she alighted from the vehicle.

"Thank you," she replied as she slammed the door.

Ezra watched as she walked in front of the Dodge and safely entered the building. He headed to the construction site and thought about the people he had met. Purgatorio was full of surprises. He had assumed, somewhat discriminatory of him that the town was made up of drug dealers and troublemakers. He never thought about the circumstances surrounding the inhabitants. It gave Standish something to contemplate.

Ezra was still thinking about his neighbors as he threw some money on the bar of McGee's to cover his beers. He was going to call it a night, an uneventful night. He would make himself a cup of coffee and have some muffins. Carmen had been bringing by some baked goods since he had done the kindness for her. In his kitchen, he would look at Lily's latest painting, which he had taped onto the refrigerator.

He understood. It wasn't like he had an epiphany. It was something he always knew. He loved Maude. He respected her intelligence and savvy. He did not respect her. There were his neighbors making their way through life the best way they could-honestly. They were not on a quest for riches or power. They wanted to make a decent life for themselves and leave a legacy for their children. He wanted to help, granted it would never be on the same level as Agent Tanner, but Ezra was practical and liked to concentrate on the individual rather than the masses.

He got into the car trying to ignore the harshness of the maroon interior under the street light. As he pulled away from the curb, he made up his mind what he was going to do tomorrow.

He was so caught up with his thoughts that he didn't notice someone was keeping a keen eye on him.

* * *

He pulled into the driveway; his headlights throwing light well into the deserted backyard. A glance next door told him Meg was home for the night with her kids. He fumbled a moment with the keys and then opened the front door, as he turned he saw Nathan pull up and settle in for the night. He tossed his keys on the kitchen table and picked up the phone.

"Larabee," came the reply after two rings.

"Just letting you know I won't be in tomorrow," Ezra said as he stretched the phone cord and opened the refrigerator door, which was littered with Lily's drawings.

The undercover agent heard the loud sigh Larabee gave, which meant he wanted an explanation. The southerner didn't want to hear the words that he knew were incorporated with that sigh. 'You better have a stellar reason.'

Standish took out a bottle of San Pelligrino mineral water, and poured himself a glass. "My residence is in need of some maintenance."

"You pay condo fees," Chris answered, puzzled by the undercover agent's request.

Ezra cleared his throat. His hand was cool from holding the glass and he placed it on his neck as he answered. "I mean here in Purgatorio,"

Larabee was frustrated and anger spiked his words. "I need the manpower. I can't have one of the team watching you mow the lawn."

Ezra wasn't looking forward to mowing the lawn. As he stretched the phone in the other direction he looked through the window, soon a visitor would need a machete to get to the door. Hell, the only gardening he had ever done was trimming a bonsai tree. "I understand, but I thought it would help me to blend in," Ezra continued trying to convince Chris it was in everyone's best interest for him to miss work for the day. "And it may assist in bringing a successful end to this case."

"Best I can do is have Vin check on you during the day," Larabee conceded after a long pause of dead air over the phone.

"Fine, I'll be here." Ezra replied, feeling strange he was not going to have a shadow tomorrow.

Chris changed the subject. "How'd it go tonight?"

The undercover agent would have loved to say that finally there was a lead. Instead, he softened the truth. "Yet another establishment knows I want to purchase a weapon."

Larabee's voice held a tinge of disappointment. Standish understood. The leader didn't want to be the one to tell the sharpshooter that the assignment was over with unsuccessful results. He was also under pressure from his supervisors to work on other more 'important' cases.

"Okay, Ezra, let me call Vin so he doesn't pick you up tomorrow."

In the morning, the thoughts of helping his neighbors quickly faded as sweat began to trickle down his chest. Ezra did not like manual labor. He had mowed the lawns of his two neighbors and thought for all his efforts the property value in the area should skyrocket. He found the lawnmower in the basement of the house. Luckily there was still some gas in it. Though, as he tried to complete the back yard of his present residence he was struggling to start the engine. He pulled and it sputtered. He did not hear when a man crept up the shaven lawn.

"Hey!"

Ezra was visibly startled by the heavyset, pock-faced man before him. "Sorry, didn't hear you." Standish wiped his greasy, blackened hands on a dishcloth he had brought outside. He felt his body tensed as it prepared to fight a possible threat.

"Yeah, whatever," the man said as he hunched his shoulder and his beady eyes darted. "You," the pock-faced man jutted out his chin, "still interested?"

"In what?" Ezra asked the rude man.

"You have shit for brains?" The heavyset man squinted. "You wanna buy a gun?"

Standish did not find it refreshing to have his intelligence insulted by a criminal. He kept his cool exterior and replied, "Yeah, are you selling?"

"Yep, not here, though." The heavyset man scratched at a pockmark. "You gotta come with me."

The undercover agent let his eyes look out on the street. There was not a familiar car there. "Let me wash up and grab my wallet."

"'Kay," The man followed Ezra into the house. Standish looked to the phone. He was hoping he was going to have some privacy to make a phone call. He would have to do this solo.

He briskly washed his hands, removing as much as the grease as possible and stuffed his wallet in his back pocket. "Ready."

Ezra followed the man down his driveway to an old Ford Escort parked across the street. As they pulled away from the car, the house became smaller and smaller in the distance leaving Standish with an uneasy feeling.

The driver expertly darted down side streets into parts of Purgatorio Ezra had never seen. He felt as if he was in a complicated labyrinth without a solution. He memorized as many street names as possible, and then went to work.

"You're a hard man to make contact with."

The pock faced man made another sharp turn. "Yep, I like it that way. I'm the only gun facilitator in Purgatorio."

Ezra gripped the dashboard as the vehicle surged forward. "Thought they called people like you straw purchasers?"

The man grinned. "I like to think of being the middleman in an entrepreneurial venture. I buy the guns and sell it to you who can't, making a little profit of course."

"Of course," Standish replied. The car was slowing down. Ezra glanced around taking in the scenery. They were near buildings that seemed identical. Concrete masses that went up eight floors, intermittently dispersed were warehouses.

"We're here," the heavyset man said as he parked the vehicle. He led the way to one of the buildings. A man larger than Josiah guarded the metal door, which was tinged with rust. Ezra saw the two men exchange a nod and the large man opened the door.

The hallway before Standish was dark and littered with paper. Ezra continued to stay in character. "I know this is illegal, but there's not going to be any trouble is there?"

The metal door clanged loudly shut and Ezra was unable to hear the answer.


	4. Chapter 4

The Last Straw Part 4

* * *

Ezra was always telling Vin he had perfect timing. Tanner never thought on it much until he went to check on Standish and found him getting into a strange Ford Escort. He followed at a distance, which was difficult as the Ford in front of him weaved in and out of streets and took turns without signaling.

Deftly, Vin pulled out his cell phone and hit the number two. The speed dial immediately connected him.

"Larabee," answered Chris from his desk at the office.

"I'm followin' Ezra," Tanner announced, watching the Ford take another turn. He cradled the phone against his neck as he placed two hands on the steering wheel.

Larabee's replied was dampened slightly since the cell phone no longer rested closely against the sharpshooter's ear. "We're gonna head out to his place."

Vin nodded reactively. "I'll call once they get to where ever the hell it is they're goin' to."

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Trust me." Tanner didn't wait for the reply, just punched the power button before tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. He wouldn't be doing anything stupid as long as Ezra was okay. All bets were off, though, if Standish was hurt or struggling. They finally stopped and Vin pulled around to another building and took out his binoculars.

He watched as Ezra and the heavyset driver got out of the car. The undercover agent seemed fine. There was a huge mother fucker at the door. Vin placed a phone call to Chris who was en route to Ezra's house. They would be at the new location in ten minutes.

Finally, the team pulled the Ram and Nathan's Explorer in beside the Jeep. Vin jumped off his car hood, and filled the team in on what he had seen.

Larabee listened intently. He looked at each of the men. "We are going to do this nicely for a change."

Buck smirked and pulled out his Glock 19. "What the hell do you mean by 'nicely'? I'll tell you that a lot of the ladies of the world find good Ol' Buck nice enough."

Vin grinned at the ladies man. Larabee dispatched the team to wait on the side of the eight-floor building. The sharpshooter watched with gun drawn as Josiah sauntered up to the large enforcer.

"Brother!" He called out his familiar greeting to the giant of the man leaning on the metal door.

"I don't know you," the bodyguard replied and stepped forward to meet Josiah. Sanchez met the man with a jovial smile. The enforcer replied by shoving the ATF agent, forcing him to take a step back.

"That's not polite." Josiah came at the large man his hands out and within a minute the enforcer was in a headlock turning red and gasping for breath.

Chris patted Josiah on the back to signal a job well done then began interrogating the criminal. "Where is he?"

"Who?" The subdued bodyguard replied.

Larabee gave a nod to Sanchez who tightened the hold.

The enforcer squeezed his eyes shut and breathlessly whispered, "Seventh floor."

Sanchez let the man go and he dropped to the floor. Vin dragged him away from the doorway. Buck held the door open, and Tanner filed in with Wilmington and Dunne behind him. They would be taking the stairs while the others would take the elevator.

"That was nice?" Tanner heard Dunne comment.

They raced up the next flight of stairs, agilely jumping over boxes and strewn litter.

"Josiah doesn't cuss," Buck answered. "The rest of us would have shared some of our fucking thoughts."

They waited behind the door at the seventh floor landing. They all heard the ding as the elevator reached the same floor and then Chris's voice as he yelled out, "ATF!"

Vin whipped the door open, gun drawn. There was another smaller guard trying to open the door at the end of the hall all the while saying, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

"Damn, we tried to do this nicely Chris," Buck yelled. "Freeze, asshole!" The wiry man dropped his gun and got down on his knees. Vin rushed passed him, kicking the criminal's gun out of his reach. JD stopped and took out his handcuffs.

The sharpshooter reached the door and could hear screaming emanating from inside. "YOU SET ME UP! YOU SET ME UP!" Then, he heard the sound of glass smashing and a lone gunshot.

* * *

Ezra didn't know the calvary was coming. He was the ever-diligent undercover agent, noticing minor details as they took the elevator to the seventh floor of the vacant building. There was also a stairwell. Standish noted the two exits. At the end of the hallway there was another guard, a much smaller man, not as imposing as the enforcer at the entryway.

"You were saying that you had a problem?" Ezra continued the conversation with the pock-faced man. He had yet to learn the man's name. Standish wasn't concerned when the time came he would improvise a plan to take the man down. Ezra had confidence and bravado on his side. He had the advantage like he always did. He had been playing the 'game' since he was a child. He learned from the best-his mother. The 'game' was hard to describe. Suffice it to say, Ezra Standish could be anyone's best friend in a half an hour. It went further than that. The mark would believe Ezra was his equal. He could be as low as the low lifers and as high as the high rollers. It was a learned talent. He watched his mother marry man after man she did not love. Yet, an untrained eye would never know.

"Sold some gang banger a gun and POW," the straw purchaser pretending his fingers were a cocked gun. "He shot some kid who had connections."

He sat down at a roughly made plywood table and pulled out a couple of suitcases underneath. He opened the lock and in front of Ezra there appeared a myriad of handguns. "So here are your choices; all never been used, fresh from the gun store." The man moved his hand gracefully over the weapons as if he were a model.

Standish picked up a 9mm semi-automatic.

"How much?"

He examined the unloaded gun gingerly as if he did not have a lot of experience with weapons.

"Six hundred," the straw purchaser said as he nodded at the undercover agent's choice.

"Are you talking profit or price gouging?" Ezra commented as he studied the Kel-Tec P11 again. He knew it was worth around three hundred dollars. He pretended to shoot it at a spider making a web in the corner.

"You're my last sale and I'm out to Mexico. I'm gonna lead the lush life." The pock-faced man was tapping his fingers against the plywood waiting impatiently for Ezra's decision.

Damn, the undercover agent thought, he was going to have to work fast. Incredibly fast as he heard the acronym "ATF" and saw the straw purchaser's eyes widen, then came the accusation, "YOU SET ME UP! YOU SET ME UP!"

Standish pointed to himself as if he was innocent in any wrong doings. The man looked around wildly searching for an exit. One was blocked, leaving only the window. Ezra watched as the criminal took a running start and dove through the window.

"Damn!" The undercover agent yelled as he leaped after the pock-faced man grabbing his foot before he was able to fully get through the window.

The heavyset man began to twitch his leg in an attempt to shake Standish off. Ezra hung on laying on the floor, trying to gain some leverage so he could pull the straw purchaser back in.

Suddenly, there was the echo of a gunshot then a searing pain. With an almost detached interest, Ezra noticed the blossoming stain of blood spreading from the wound on his shoulder. He could feel his arm straining to hold on. He didn't have to wait long as Vin burst in, kicking down the door. It smacked against the wall in his wake. The straw purchaser raised his gun at Tanner, but it was too late. He had already closed the distance and was holding his Glock to the pock-faced man's head. Effortlessly, he took the gun away from the criminal and pulled him roughly back into the room.

"You can let go, Ez," the sharpshooter drawled as he patted down the compliant pock-faced man.

Standish let his tentative grip drop and fell back to the ground, holding a hand against his shoulder. Chris and Nathan came over and helped him sit up against the wall. Gently, Jackson removed Standish's hand from the wound so he could examine it more closely.

Ezra kept his eyes on Vin who was in a tense stance. The sharpshooter knuckles were white as they gripped on to his gun, aiming at the head of the straw purchaser. Standish realized Tanner had found the supplier of the 'murder' weapon. The undercover agent could see Vin's face was contorted with 'what if' questions. Chris and Nathan also followed Ezra's line of sight. Larabee was getting up from his crouched position next to Standish to assist Tanner with his dilemma. Ezra put out his hand to stop Chris and noticed the blood. He wiped his bloodied hand on the plaid shirt and started laughing.

Vin dropped the gun and relaxed, a concerned look came over him. "Nate?"

"The bullet went through. He's gonna be fine." Ezra laughed harder at Nathan's comments, causing the medic to ask, "Why are you so happy? You got shot!"

Standish pulled the plaid, flannel shirt slightly away from his body. "The clothes are ruined." Blood was splattered over one shoulder where there was a large tear and his distorted handprint decorated the other side of the shirt. The tense mood was broken.

Josiah closed his cell phone and joined in the laughing. "Ambulance is on the way."

"Why is everyone laughing?" JD entered the room, escorting the handcuffed associate of the straw purchaser. The young agent gestured for him to sit next to the other criminal.

Buck answered. "Well, Ezra's Movin' on Up! To the East Side! To a dee-luxe apartment in the sky. . ."

JD raised his voice in song, joining his roommate. "We're movin' on up! To the East Side! We've finally got a piece of the pie!"

The others joined in; although, Chris mostly shook his head and guided the police officers and paramedics to their location.

Ezra didn't know if he ever wanted his friends to serenade him again. Although they were highly capable ATF agents, they did not have a high degree of vocal talent.

* * *

Vin awoke exhausted. He had gotten home late after making sure Ezra was comfortable and situated in his room. Chris had made him leave. When he returned to his apartment, he battled with his thoughts. He should have been the one who was hurt. He was the one who had taken the responsibility of protecting the kids in his building.

It was four-thirty in the morning and since he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep he thought he better put the time to good use. The creased sheet, which had entwined itself around him dropped off as he headed toward the bathroom.

The sun was coming up over the horizon. Even though there was a dimness of morning light, Vin still had perched his sunglasses over his eyes. The limited light was still too harsh for his sleep weary eyes. He pulled into the driveway and collected a cardboard box from the backseat of the Jeep. He was going to clear out Ezra's temporary home of all of the undercover agent's belongings, so Standish would not have to do so himself. It didn't take him much time. Ezra had brought his Sonicare toothbrush, some books, a few CDs and some other toiletries. Tanner locked the door behind him and placed the box in the front seat. As he went around the car, he could see the neighbor from across the street waving at him to stop.

She was out of breath when she finally reached him.

"Ma'am," he greeted her. Vin and the others had watched Ezra's dealings with his neighbors with keen interest. They never brought it up with the undercover agent, because they were unsure if it was part of his cover or some sort of hidden side of Standish.

"Where's Eric?" She asked as her dark eyes assessed Vin, trying to figure out if he was friend or foe.

"He got hurt at work." Tanner didn't like to lie and in this case he didn't have to.

"Here, " she handed him a paper plate with muffins stacked high, which could be seen through the cellophane wrapping. "Tell him I'll be looking in on those kids."

"He's gonna be happy to hear that," Vin said as he accepted the plate. He smiled. He knew there was more to Ezra than that selfish bastard he tried to pretend he was. He watched as the neighbor carefully crossed the street.

The city streets were slowly coming alive as Vin made his way to the hospital. He parked an empty space near the emergency room and grabbed the muffins, toting them up to the third floor room. The hospital was still quiet at five thirty in the morning, and although visiting hours didn't start for another three hours, the nurses were too busy to pay attention to one straggler.

He quietly crept into Ezra's room. It was semi-private, but no one was occupying the other bed. The lights were still off. Vin placed the box on the lone guest chair and sneaked a look at Standish's sleeping form. Guilt washed over him as he saw the sling, propping up Ezra's injured shoulder. It took Tanner a moment to realize a pair of green eyes was staring at him. Vin kept his voice low.

"Thanks." There was more he wanted to say, but Ezra interrupted him.

"For?" Standish's husky, sleep-filled voice replied.

Vin leaned against the wall, and kept himself in the morning shadows. "For all you went through."

With his good arm, Ezra pulled himself up higher on the pillows. "All in a day's work, Agent Tanner." The undercover agent yawned and grimaced as his shoulder flared up.

"Shouldn't a' gone down like this," the sharpshooter quietly replied. "Not if I had done my job." He saw Ezra was scrutinizing his guilty manner. Vin decided to divert attention from himself and picked up the plate of baked goods. "Muffin?" he offered as he precisely took away the clear wrapping.

"So you could be in pain, be a pain in the ass and somehow feel better?" Ezra wasn't falling for the diversion. Vin wished he would just let the conversation drop. But Standish was riled with Tanner's attitude. "And which job did you not succeed at -Robin Hood, Saint Vin? Which exactly?"

Vin sighed as he explained. "Ez, I'm supposed to keep those kids safe." It was so hard to explain. How he wanted those kids to have all the chances he missed. How he saw himself at their age reflected in their eyes. It scared him to see he had lost so much of life's innocence.

"You do, Vin." Ezra calmed down. "I am sure Eduardo would say the same."

At the mention of the young man's name, Vin closed his eyes. "But he can't." When he opened them, he stared at Ezra. Standish nodded. He understood that Vin would come to terms with Eduardo's death in his own way in his own time. Tanner could see Standish wasn't going to push any further.

"A straw purchaser is off the street," Ezra commented. He had only seen them drag the straw buyer and his associates away.

"Maybe not."

Vin filled him in on the latest happenings. Vin crossed his arms to help him balance against the wall. He had a biting tone to his voice. He was disgusted at the system this moment. "Prosecutors are busy. One straw purchaser is not that important when they got legal problems going on with the tobacco industry." There was a companionable silence, and Vin pushed himself off the wall. Enough had been said. He was planning on leaving and letting Ezra get his rest.

"Were those muffins intended for me?" Standish asked as he gestured to the plate.

Vin grinned and placed a muffin on the hospital tray. He rolled it in front of Standish's bed. "Yep, your neighbor sent them, said she'd check on the kids."

"I know why you do it," Ezra said as he gingerly removed some crumbs from the corner of his mouth.

"Do what?" Vin said as he swallowed a large piece of the muffin and contemplated having another one.

Ezra chuckled. "That self sacrificing shit."

"Oh yeah?" Tanner was curious to hear Standish's opinion. He didn't understand why people thought it was so strange. Vin wasn't anything special. He was just a man who saw a problem in Purgatorio and thought that maybe he could help. At least, that is how he looked at. It wasn't self-sacrificing.

"Yes," Ezra picked at the blueberry in his remaining muffin. "Helping people, not just as an ATF agent, brings its own rewards."

Vin nodded realizing Ezra was finding his own 'moral compass' as Josiah liked to say. Tanner lowered his voice to a whisper. "You know there's talk in the office-stuff like Ezra has a heart."

The undercover agent put a hand over his face in a dramatic fashion. "Not that, my reputation." He let the hand fall. "May I presume Agent Wilmington is involved?"

"Yep." Vin grinned thinking about the comments Buck had been making of late.

"Wonderful, I am Buck fodder." Ezra sighed and relaxed into the pile of pillows behind his head.

He was more than that, he was a trusted friend. They continued the playful banter, both realizing this conversation would not go past the two of them. Vin couldn't say the same though about the picture of a flannel dressed Ezra Standish.

* * *

THE END

* * *

Last estimates there were 15 million guns sold in the US each year. It is 9 billion dollar a year industry. The Brady Law and ATF efforts have decreased the amount of gun sellers. There are though still straw purchasers, and unfortunately the system is over burdened and few get successfully prosecuted.


End file.
